


Willow by the Riverside

by pennyofthewild



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Drama, Future-fic, Humor, Multi, Romance, except that I can't really write humor, i think this one may actually earn its rating?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyofthewild/pseuds/pennyofthewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[“That’s a really stupid question,” Junpei says. “Alright, listen. If you’re going to live here we’re going to have to get a couple of things straight.”<br/>“Are you going to give me a list of house rules?” Mibuchi is back to sounding amused. Junpei is almost sorry. ]</p><p>Junpei isn’t sure when his life turned into a badly-written drama series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Willow by the Riverside

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ива около реки](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749092) by [Kaname_Seiu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaname_Seiu/pseuds/Kaname_Seiu)



> /lies down
> 
> I am so sorry.

Junpei sighs into his phone. “For God’s sake, I’m _fine_ , Riko. Would you get off my case already?” He runs his free hand through his hair. It is longer than he’s usually comfortable with; he’s overdue for a haircut. He can feel the strands at the nape of his neck brush against his collar.

“You could’ve stayed here,” Riko’s voice is tinny, because of the bad reception. “There’s a spare bedroom. Teppei wouldn’t have minded.”

“Yeah, you’ve said so only a couple dozen times,” Junpei tugs at his gloves. It snowed, sometime during the night, and there’s a faint dusting of powdery-white over the sidewalk – enough to crunch underfoot as Junpei crosses over to the stairs down to the subway station.

“You never told me why,” Riko says by way of explanation as Junpei descends underground. It is six o ‘clock in the morning on New Year’s Day, and the station is nearly deserted, but luckily for Junpei, the trains are still running, or he’d have to walk home. “Maybe I’d stop asking if you’d actually bothered to answer my questions.”

 _I couldn’t bring myself to watch you and Teppei cozy up to each other,_ Junpei wants to say, _I’m afraid I’m not that selfless._

“I did,” Junpei leans against one of the station pillars, scuffing his shoe along the sidewalk. His elbow rests over a graffiti-ed heart with a Cupid’s arrow stuck through the middle. Cold from the cement seeps through his jacket sleeve. “I’ve got an assignment due. I can’t work if I’m distracted; you know that.”

“You can’t stand Teppei and me, can you,” Riko’s voice is heavy, even over the phone, despite the lousy signal. Her mind-reading skills seem to be intact, also.

“Riko – I’m happy for you. You know I am.” He is – he really is. He just isn’t into self-inflicted pain. Much.

“You are,” Riko says, “but _you_ aren’t okay.”

“Riko,” Junpei grips his phone tighter, “can we not talk about this right now, please?”

“Fine,” Riko says. She doesn’t sound happy about letting the subject go, but thankfully, she doesn’t push it. “Fine – we’ll talk about it some other time. Good luck with your assignment. Love you.”

“Yeah,” Junpei says, “stay safe. Love you too.” There is a slight click as she ends the call. The dial tone starts up.

Junpei keeps the phone against his ear for several moments longer before thumbing the end call key and sliding it into his pocket. He leans further into the pillar, pressing his cheek against the cold, rough stone. His eyelids are heavy.

There are less than two minutes until the train arrives. Junpei’s feet are almost numb in his boots. If he’d taken up Riko’s offer he could be in her kitchen right now, making up a thermos of hot chocolate while she and Teppei lounged about on the living room sofa. They’d fight sleep for as long as humanly possible – Teppei would probably pop a DVD into the PS3 – some stupid rom-com they could laugh themselves silly over. Riko would insist on drinking the chocolate straight out of the thermos, so they’d end up passing it back and forth between the three of them like a peace pipe or something.

Or, Junpei brutally reminds himself, he’d be in the spare bedroom, underneath the covers, trying to ignore Riko having a shouting match with Teppei in the room next door, and the fight’s subsequent dissolution into what would probably be a movie-worthy make-out session.

He’s not sure which scenario is worse.

“Hyuuga-kun?” The voice is a lilting tenor – not unfamiliar, and that is why Junpei jumps, because it is the last voice he’d ever have expected to hear calling out _his_ name.

Mibuchi, Junpei observes, doesn’t look very different from when Junpei has seen him last: irritatingly tall, ridiculously pretty (Junpei remains unwilling to believe those eyelashes are not false), and still very much in need of a haircut.

Junpei is gratified to note, however, that their height difference is no longer as glaring as it once was; Mibuchi has barely an inch on Junpei now.

Satisfaction makes Junpei generous, and he manages a smile and a nod in addition to a polite, “Mibuchi. I didn’t expect to see you here.” He doesn’t bother with an honorific. Good mood aside, he isn’t going to refer to Mibuchi as ‘Mibuchi-san’ or even ‘Mibuchi-kun’. That would imply he respects the guy.

Mibuchi laughs. “Funny,” he says, although there’s nothing funny about the situation, at least to Junpei’s knowledge, “I could say the same about you.”

“Actually,” Junpei says, mock-seriously, “I live here, in Tokyo? I have my whole life. – but you’re from Kyoto, so no. You couldn’t say the same thing about me.”

Mibuchi waves an indolent hand. It is an utterly dismissive gesture, as if Junpei hasn’t just discredited him.

“Oh, all roads lead to Tokyo, Hyuuga-kun.”

Junpei is saved from having to reply by the arrival of the train. The car, like the station, is nearly empty, much to Junpei’s relief. Had it been the afternoon rush hour, a seat would have been impossible to come by – but now, Junpei’s got a whole row to himself.

His moment of revelry is cut short by Mibuchi, who takes the seat next to him. Junpei side-eyes him, biting his lip to keep from reminding Mibuchi of the unoccupied status of the dozen other chairs in the vicinity. Mibuchi has a suitcase with him. Junpei hadn’t noticed it before, but it would be difficult to miss it now, seeing as it is encroaching upon his leg space.  Junpei tries not to fidget.

“Ah, I am so sorry,” Mibuchi says, “here, I’ll move that.” He pulls the suitcase to his other side, so that it is no longer in danger of stubbing Junpei’s toe. This also means, though, that there is no longer a barrier between Junpei and Mibuchi’s leg, which is now at risk of falling against Junpei’s knee.

Because Fate hates Junpei and is out to get him, that is exactly what happens a moment later. Junpei ignores the burst of warmth that blossoms across his leg from the point of contact. He is pretty sure human beings shouldn’t be this warm in the middle of winter, no matter how thick their obviously-new, high-quality trousers are.

Mibuchi is holding his mobile phone and his eyes are fixed, almost unwaveringly, on the screen. He isn’t texting or scrolling through a menu – he’s just staring at it. Junpei is starting to worry when Mibuchi lifts the mobile to his ear. He doesn’t speak – just stares straight ahead for several moments before lowering the phone again with an enormous sigh.

Junpei wonders if social etiquette demands that he ask what is wrong. He hopes not. Politeness has always exhausted him, and he’s already the victim of a vicious all-nighter, courtesy of Riko’s New Year’s party. Much as he loves his former teammates – maddening kouhai included – he’s glad he doesn’t have to see them on a daily basis. Once every fortnight is more than enough.

“Hyuuga-kun,” Mibuchi says before Junpei can fall prey to the better parts of his conscience, “could I, perhaps, ask a favor of you?”

 _If it’s doable, and doesn’t require too much energy_ , Junpei wants to say. Teppei is the one with the hero complex, not him.

“Sure, I guess.”

Mibuchi slides his phone into his pocket. “See,” he begins, “I was meant to stay at a friend’s house – you remember Akashi Seijuurou, obviously – but it was a bit impromptu and I’m afraid not all involved parties were made fully aware of the details – and Sei-chan isn’t answering my messages or calls right now and I don’t feel entirely comfortable dropping in unannounced so would you happen to have a spare futon or something that I can crash on? It would only be for a couple of hours – I’ll go see him in the afternoon, when unexpected visitors are looked more kindly upon than they are at six in the morning.”

“What makes you think I don’t have a guest room?”  Junpei says, affronted.

“I didn’t mean to presume  – ”

“Finish that thought, and I won’t say yes.” In the interest of defending his apartment’s honor, Junpei conveniently forgets the hundred other reasons he has against saying yes.

“Wait,” Mibuchi says, “does that mean you _are_ saying yes?”

Junpei crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. “Good things shouldn’t be repeated,” he mutters.

“Thank you so very much,” Mibuchi says, so sincerely Junpei wants to throw up. “Really. You’re a lifesaver, Hyuuga-kun.”

Junpei sighs, looking forward to the comfort of his room and a closed bedroom door.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says.

Thankfully, Mibuchi doesn’t say anything for the rest of the ride home.

***

It feels a little strange, letting someone he doesn’t know all that well into his apartment. Junpei unlocks the door, leaving his shoes in the cabinet by the welcome mat (a gift, from his mother). He flicks the light switch as Mibuchi steps in.

“Right,” Junpei says, once the door’s been locked. “That’s the guest room,” he gestures at the door across the hall. “The kitchen is over there. The bathroom’s at the end of the hallway.  Don’t bother shouting if you need anything; I’ve been up all night and I’m going to be catching up on sleep."

There’s a faintly amused look on Mibuchi’s face, as if he’s the one doing Junpei a favor. Stupid rich boys and their inflated sense of self-importance.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Mibuchi says, “thanks again, Hyuuga-kun.”

Junpei rubs at his temples.  “-if you leave before I get up, slide the key under the door after you lock up.”

“Will do.”

Junpei decides Mibuchi’s smile is incredibly infuriating.  He mumbles, “well, see you later,” adding, “or not,” under his breath, before crossing the living room over to his own bedroom. He resists the urge to slam the door behind him; he’ll only come off as petulant and hurt nobody but himself (and, possibly, his door frame).

Inside, Junpei sheds his jacket and jeans, crawling into the nest of covers on his (unmade) bed. If he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to sleep, occupied by thoughts of his unwanted houseguest, those fears go unfounded; Junpei is asleep nearly as soon as his head hits the pillow.

(He dreams of Riko. She is standing with her back to him. Her head is bowed, and when he calls her name she doesn’t turn around.)

***

Junpei’s phone goes off at a quarter to three in the afternoon. He reaches for it, fingers fumbling across the smooth surface of his bedside table. The caller id reads _Mom_ in bold, flashing kanji. Junpei sighs.

“Afternoon, mom,” Junpei says into the receiver.

“Junpei,” his mother says, “this is the third time I’m calling you. What on earth is going on?”

“Sorry. I was asleep.”

“Still?” His mother sounds slightly scandalized. “It’s nearly three in the afternoon, Junpei.”

“I was at Riko’s party.”

“Oh. How is she? Has she gotten engaged yet? –to that Kenshi boy?”

“It’s Kiyoshi, mom.” Part of Junpei – the part that isn’t ignoring the rampant jealousy he’d felt last night watching Riko and Momoi compare rings – is grateful for his mother’s attempt at making him feel better. Teppei is still Junpei’s friend, though – his _best_ friend, apart from Shun – and he’s always wanted Riko to be _happy_ whoever she’s with, and so Junpei adds, “Kiyoshi Teppei. You know, my best friend from high school? We’ve had him over on weekends more times than you can count. You _like_ him.”

His mother sighs in a rush of static. “You’ve always let the people closest to you walk off with what you’ve wanted.”

Junpei shakes his head, though she cannot see him. “Mom – that’s not how it works. It’s always been Riko’s choice to make – you know that. Teppei’s a great guy – the best I’ve ever known. He’s good for her in ways I never would’ve been.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.” Junpei can almost see her bite her lip.

“I _am_ convinced,” Junpei says in a (hopefully) reassuring tone. “Really. I’m great. Never been better.”

“Fine,” his mother says, “you know yourself best.” Her voice shifts, taking on a more resolute tone. “By the way: I called to remind you that your father and I are expecting you for dinner. Seven sharp – I’m not standing for any excuses.”

“Okay,” Junpei says, “thanks for the reminder.”

“Desert is on you,” his mother adds.

“Bye, mom,” Junpei says.

“Seven sharp!” his mother repeats.

“You said so already.”

“And you’d better be in ironed clothes, Hyuuga Junpei, or I’m moving you back home.”

“Okay.”

“Bye-bye,” Junpei’s mother says.

“Bye,” Junpei repeats. He ends the call, tossing his phone back on the bedside table.

The blinds in his room are nearly always drawn; despite the hour, his room is dark apart from a crack of sunlight slipping in from a chink in the shutters. Junpei puts on his glasses. The room comes into sharper focus – and Junpei immediately wishes it hadn’t. His jeans and jacket are in a rumpled heap on the floor, his desk is a jumble of textbooks and papers, and the open doors to his closet do nothing to conceal the fact that more of his clothes are in the bottom of the wardrobe than on hangers.

Yay, Junpei thinks sourly.

He throws his comforter aside, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and stands up. He is a little dizzy, but he doesn’t have a headache. Staying away from yesterday’s spiked punch had been a good idea.

Junpei opens his bedroom door cautiously, mindful of the possibility that Mibuchi might still be in his apartment. He needn’t have worried, though; a quick sweep of the living room and kitchen reveals that they are empty; the guest room is similarly so. The heating system must’ve been turned up, though, at some point during the day; Junpei is toasty warm despite being clad in a t-shirt and boxers. He tosses a dress shirt and a clean pair of trousers on the ironing board in the corner behind the sofa on his way into the bathroom.

Later, he is brushing his teeth when he hears voices in the hallway outside the apartment.

“You didn’t have to drive me back, Sei-chan.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Reo; it’s the least I could do. I am sorry, but I know you understand.”

Junpei groans.

“ _I’m_ sorry, for the trouble. Thank you.”

“You’re planning to stay _here_? Are you – ”

“Ssh, Sei-chan; the walls here are on the thin side. Here – ring the doorbell.”

Junpei, retrieving the key from the floor, unlocks the door before the bell can be rung.

“What,” Junpei says to Mibuchi, who is standing on his doorstep, aggravating smile firmly in place, “are you doing back here?”

In retrospect, he should’ve gone into his bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans instead of trying to beat Mibuchi to the doorbell. The look Akashi Seijuurou – who is, of course, Mibuchi’s companion – is giving Junpei – heterochromatic eyes traveling from Junpei’s bed hair to his boxer shorts, bare feet and back up – makes Junpei feel like something the cat dragged in.

“Charming,” Akashi says.

Junpei rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thanks.” He isn’t scared of Akashi anymore. He might’ve been, four years ago when Seirin played Rakuzan in the Winter Cup – but while being the subject of Akashi’s scrutiny still makes Junpei feel like an insect, he isn’t as terrifying as he once was. “Do you mind? I’ve got things to do.”

“Oh, trust me; I’m not here by choice.” Akashi doesn’t exactly wrinkle his nose, but he might as well have. “I’m perfectly amenable to going elsewhere, but Reo here seems to think you’re the best option under the current circumstances.” His tone of voice makes it perfectly clear he doubts Mibuchi’s judgment, at least in this case.

“Sei-chan,” Mibuchi says in a placating tone, “you’re only making things worse. Hyuuga-kun – if you don’t mind letting us in, I’m sure we can settle things quicker inside than if we were to discuss things while standing in the hallway.”

Junpei is about to protest , before he notices that the door to the apartment opposite his has been opened a crack, allowing Junpei’s nosy neighbor – who is also a writer, of some sort – better access to the conversation.

“Right,” Junpei says, “make it quick.” He steps back to allow them entry, steadfastly ignoring the critical look Akashi throws at the paint peeling off the walls in the foyer, and the very dead houseplant sitting in the corner behind the door. Junpei follows them into the living room.

“I’d say make yourselves at home,” he says, throwing Mibuchi a look, “except that I don’t think you need the encouragement. –but yeah, wait here; I’m going to go put my jeans on.”

“Thank God,” Akashi says as Junpei slips into his room, “I was beginning to think you’d have to be told.”

 Junpei, viciously pulling up his jeans, tells himself it isn’t worth it to throw something large and heavy at Akashi, no matter how tempting the thought may be.

When he makes it back to the living room, Junpei is greeted by the sight of Mibuchi handing Akashi a glass of orange juice – which, unless Mibuchi’s hiding a refrigerator under his shirt (unlikely, considering the shirt’s fit) – is from Junpei’s kitchen. The more rational, mature side of Junpei chooses this moment to remind Junpei that he is a mature, responsible adult and not a barely-out-of-adolescence- (still a) -child prone to fits of homicidal rage.

“I hope you don’t mind, Hyuuga-kun,” Mibuchi says brightly, “but you did say make yourself at home.” He gives Junpei a smile. Junpei tries to keep his hands from curling into fists.

“I should’ve known you’d take it the wrong way,” Junpei says, sitting across from them in the armchair. He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Why did you say you were back, again? I’m not sure I caught it, the first time.”

“Well,” Mibuchi begins, and throws Akashi a cautious look. “The truth is –”

“Reo needs a place to stay,” Akashi interrupts, “I will be looking for more suitable places, of course, but there aren’t many choices available on such short notice, especially at this time of the year. For some reason he’s decided you are the most appropriate. It really is beyond my comprehension.”

Junpei raises an eyebrow. He knows it looks appropriately disbelieving; he’s had lots of practice, courtesy of one Kiyoshi Teppei.

“Yeah,” he says, “it’s beyond mine, too, when _obviously_ the best option is to just have him stay with you.”

Mibuchi says, “being talked about as if I’m not here is just as uncomfortable as they say.”

“Well,” Junpei crosses his legs, “why don’t you just stay with Akashi? Or wherever you were staying before. Go back to Kyoto or whatever.”

Mibuchi and Akashi exchange looks. Akashi’s expression is exasperated; Mibuchi’s discomfited.

“It’s a long story,” Mibuchi says, finally. “Look – it’s not like I’m going to _mooch_ off of you. I’ll be contributing to the rent, obviously. –and hopefully, if things go well, I won’t be troubling you for very long.”

Akashi takes a pointed sip of his orange juice. Junpei wishes he could toss the pair of them off his balcony. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I guess I don’t really have much of a choice, do I?” He supposes that’s why Akashi was along; it’s as though this were a political negotiation (and Junpei has just received the short end of the deal).

“Thank you,” Mibuchi says, for what feels like the hundredth time. Junpei wishes he didn’t sound so goddamn _sincere_ ; it makes being mad at him seem awfully petty.

“Wonderful,” Akashi says, standing up and brushing down his (custom-made) gray trousers, “I’m glad that’s over. Reo, you stay up here; I’ll have the driver bring up your suitcase.”

Mibuchi follows Akashi to the door. Junpei stays where he is, resting his face in his hands and contemplating the absurdity of the situation. He wishes he’d listened to Riko and Teppei. At least he _likes_ them.

“I hope it isn’t too much trouble,” Mibuchi says five minutes later. He’s carrying his suitcase, and, in Akashi’s absence, seems strangely vulnerable, standing almost awkwardly in the middle of the room. He is tired, too, Junpei notices; there are shadows under his eyes that rival Junpei’s own.

Junpei sighs. “No,” he says, “it’s fine.”

Mibuchi seems to relax a little. “That’s a relief.”

“You can sit down, you know,” Junpei mutters. Mibuchi had been perfectly comfortable before. “-and don’t,” Junpei says when Mibuchi opens his mouth, “say thank you. It’s awkward.”

He sounds a lot more forceful than he’d intended to – mulish, almost. Mibuchi laughs.

“Don’t people usually thank you?”

Not the way you do, Junpei thinks.

“That’s a really stupid question,” Junpei says. “Alright, listen. If you’re going to live here we’re going to have to get a couple of things straight.”

“Are you going to give me a list of house rules?” Mibuchi is back to sounding amused. Junpei is almost sorry.

“My morning classes start at eight,” Junpei says, ignoring the question. “There’s just the one bathroom, so we’re going to have to share. –you’d better not be in there at seven-thirty.”

Mibuchi’s mouth twitches. Junpei mentally counts to five.

“Can you cook?”

 “No; I’m afraid I’m pretty much useless in the kitchen,” Mibuchi says, shaking his head.

“Okay, I’ll take care of that,” Junpei would very much like to get this over with. “Cleaning, we’ll handle on alternate days. I’m going to my parents later today so first day’s yours. –you’re going to be taking care of your own laundry. The washing machine’s down in the basement.”

That’s (probably) everything.

“I’m going to need a copy of the house key,” Mibuchi says, “and – I assume we’re splitting the rent fifty-fifty?”

Junpei says, “unless you’ve got a problem with that.”

 “Not at all.”

“Right, I guess that’s it.” Junpei stands. He still needs to iron his clothes for his parents’ dinner, and stop at the bakery for a cake or something, and it’s already ten minutes past four.

“What about sex?” Mibuchi’s face is utterly guileless.

Junpei is pretty sure his eyes are the size of saucers. He knows his mouth has dropped open. “Are you serious?” he says, finally, when he can speak, and is cut short by the sound of Mibuchi’s laughter.

“You’re ridiculously easy to rile up,” Mibuchi says, brushing at his eyes.

Junpei glares.

“No, but really,” Mibuchi says, “any other _house rules_ you’d like to have followed, Hyuuga-kun?”

“I honestly don’t give a damn,” Junpei tells him, frigidly. He’s never taken well to being made fun of. “Your space is your space. Just make sure the neighbors don’t call the cops.”

(Later, when he is sitting at his parents’ table fending off his father’s inquiries into his lack of a love life, Junpei’s mother says,

“Junpei, you look exhausted. Are you really that incapable of taking care of yourself?”

“I’m fine, mom,” Junpei tells her, again.)


End file.
